


Scoop

by ScripturientScorpion



Category: Five Nights at Freddy's, youtube - Fandom
Genre: Blood, Character Death, Game Theory, Horror, Markiplier - Freeform, Matpat - Freeform, Murder, NateWantsToBattle - Freeform, Natemare - Freeform, Natepat, Possession, Scary, Septiplier - Freeform, except not, fnaf - Freeform, if these four went to the FNAF haunted house, if you really squint, jacksepticeye - Freeform, the power of the mind is scary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 12:16:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10490703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScripturientScorpion/pseuds/ScripturientScorpion
Summary: It's all fun when one dedicates a portion of their creative content and inspiration to some video games.It's all games when Mark, Jack, Matt and Nate get invited out to the haunted house inspired by Five Nights at Freddy's.It's all fun and games until someone gets scooped.





	1. Chapter 1

This was supposed to be fun.

 

And it had been, Mark supposed. A group of them had been invited out the new FNAF Haunted House attraction- himself, Jack, Nate, and Matt.

 

They'd stared up at the entrance, at the sign that read 'Freddy Fazbear's Pizza' and giggled all together as they filtered in. The animatronics had been goofy-looking, but still scary in their own way, as usual. The group of young men had wandered somewhat separately, but as the journey slowly crept on, Mark found Jack clutching his hand. And Nate's skinny fingers curled tightly in the back of his shirt. And heard grumbling as Matt plastered himself to Nate's back.

 

"Excuse me," he called over his shoulder, "why, exactly, are you all making me go first?"

 

There was a beat of silence. "Because you're the biggest and scariest?" Came Nate's muffled reply into his shoulder. As if in agreement, Jack pulled in tighter to his side.

 

"So?" Mark planted his feet firmly as the monkeys at his back started to nudge him forward, "Matt's the oldest! _He_ should go first!"

 

Matt  laughed nervously. "Buddy, I'm not even the scariest thing if you stuffed me into a bag of marshmallows."  


 

Another moment of silence passed, the only sounds were the ambiance of the attraction and Nate’s derisive snort. “He’s got a point,” Jack piped up, squeezing his arm around Mark’s back, “Can’t we just get a move on, please?”

 

Awkwardly, the four shuffled forward. They’d done this before, they reminded themselves. They’d all played these games more times than they could count, knew the sounds of shuffling and deep giggles by heart. And still, when they came to the display of FNAF 1’s security office, they huddled together even closer as they leaned in to check out the monitors.

 

“Oh my god, Matt,” Jack murmured, and Mark heard Nate wheeze as he was squeezed harder.

 

“What?” Matt’s voice was shaky.

 

There was a long, long pause. “ _It’s the fan, Matthew._ ”

 

The deadpan glare was practically tangible and Jack snorted hard, dissolving into giggles. “Hardy har har,” Matt finally replied, but still smiling, “Shut your clover mouth.”

 

“Is that supposed to mean something offensive?” Jack laughed, struggling to turn his chin over Mark’s shoulder to look back at Matt through all of their limbs, “Ya need better insults, if that’s the best ya got.”

 

“Ooh, sick burn, bro,” Mark mocked, half-listening as he leaned in closer to the monitors, “Are these actually functional or-“ as he clicked on  a different camera, the video cut out with an all-too-familiar low screech.

 

Deathly silent, the four exchanged quick glances before darting their gazes to the doors on either side of the office.

 

Nothing.

 

“Should we check Pirate’s Cove?” Mark barely got the question out before the others gave their emphatic ‘yes’. Hesitantly, ears straining for the sound of shuffling felted feet, he clicked on the camera for Pirate’s Cove, hoping to see the purple curtain drawn closed, or, at the very most, lit eyes peering out from behind it.

 

The curtain was wide open.

 

“Fuck,” he breathed, “do we shut the door? Do we run?”

 

No one answered, their eyes glued on the left-hand door. They’d entered the office from the right. They would have to go through Foxy’s path to continue onward.

 

The silence was broken by Nate shaking his head violently and Matt squawking as the other’s hair got up his nose. “Guys, it’s just a haunted fucking house,” he reminded them, stretching his fingers as he uncurled them from Mark’s shirt, “Yeah, they did a damn good job and it’s scary as shit, but we’ve gotta keep-”

 

His sentence was cut off by a deafening screech. A flash of tattered red and streak of silver.

 

They froze and broke into chaos all at once, scrambling apart and clinging together.

_Just an actor_ , Mark tried to remind himself, finding himself caging Jack behind his back as they plastered themselves to the wall, reaching a hand out for Matt and Nate.

 

His eyes went wide as Foxy lunged for them, all-too real and mechanical.

 

Watched as it lurched forward.

 

 Watched in horror as the hook arced toward them.

 

Black.

 

The room was completely black and silent, as though everything had been muffled. He couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

 

Could only feel the pounding of his pulse and, very faintly, Jack’s fingers tugging at his shirt. “Is it still there?” Jack asked after a long while, his heavily accented voice far too small, too scared.

 

“I don’t know,” he breathed, blinking to make sure that he hadn’t just shut his eyes.

 

Slowly, slowly, the lights flickered back into life. No Foxy.

 

And it was like he was acutely aware of every move he made, every harsh breath that was gasped and the sounds of the other two in the room.

_Only two?_

 

Mark whipped his head around just as Matt turned to face him, the empty space between them stopping them cold.

 

“Where’s Nate?” Matt murmured shakily, darting his eyes around the room, “He was right here. I was holding his hand.”

 

Jack squeezed out from behind Mark’s broad shoulders, blue gaze wide and scared as he bent to pick something from the floor. “Oh my god,” he breathed, presenting his find to the other two: A pair of thick-rimmed glasses.

 

Mark felt sick.

 

“Nope,” Matt said firmly, Mark and Jack turning their attention to him as he shook his head firmly and crossed his arms, “Nope. He’s in on the joke. It’s just a haunted house attraction- _whatever_. He’s messing with us.”

 

Mark frowned, awkwardly wringing his hands before shoving them into his pockets and glancing over at the Irishman as he gently, carefully folded up the discarded glasses. “He’s going to pop out somewhere down the line,” Matt continued ranting, but whether or not it was to convince himself or the others was unclear, “He’s gonna pop out with that stupid Mangled makeup of his just to have a good laugh.”

 

“He’s not really that much of a trickster, though, is he?” Mark said, immediately regretting his words as he watched all the blood drain out of his partners’ faces.

 

Jack cleared his throat and slipped Nate’s glasses into his hoodie pocket. “We’re never gonna find the squirrely lil shit if we just stay here.”

 

Solemnly, with a slight tremor to each of them, they moved toward the left-hand door, poking their heads into the hallway to check for animatronic actors- _actors_ \- before moving in the only clear pathway forward: Straight through the pizzeria’s dining room and down another hallway out the other side.

 

The ambiance changed. They could feel the air change, as though there was _more_ to this next section, not daring to look at the stage, as if they knew that the animatronics wouldn’t be there. Distantly, radio-static was heard from a room down this next hallway.

 

“Fuckin Mangle,” Jack grumbled, scuttling in back close to Mark’s side, glaring down into one of the rooms as it transformed into the hallway from FNAF 2.

 

Matt squeezed into his other side. “Should we look for Nate through these rooms?” he asked, curling one hand into Jack’s shoulder across Mark’s back.

 

“If he’s playing jokes, then we’ll find him whether we’re looking for him or not,” Mark said flinching away from the laugh of Balloon Boy from a supposedly empty room, resisting the overwhelming urge to shout into the blackness.

 

Jack once again tugged on Mark’s shirt, catching his attention and pointing ahead at the security desk. _Right. No doors in this one._ The relief at seeing the familiar setup for FNAF 2 was palpable, and the trio all but sprinted forward to behind the desk, pausing only to glance under it for the mysterious Balloon Girl.

 

“Okay, so fuck the monitors this time, right?” Jack said, glancing warily at the computer screen and the spare, empty Freddy head sitting on the desk.

 

“It’ll waste our time,” Mark agreed, “And it gives the actors way too much time to come and find us.”

 

Matt audibly gulped. “Um. Vents?”

 

The other two darted their eyes to the vents on either end of the office, cold spiking through them at the distant clangs deep within. “Yeah, fuck that noise,” Jack spat, curling his hand into Mark’s and tugging hard, “Look, there’s the entry to 3 over there-”

 

The lights flickered.

 

“Nope,” Mark shouted, “ **NOPE.** Fuck that, we’re out!” He reached out to retrieve Matt, feeling for his bony shoulder.

 

He found fur instead.

 

Slowly raising his brown gaze, Mark found the empty, red-eyed face of a withered Bonnie staring down at him.

 

It was as though the air had been sucked from the room. “Jack-,” he called, gripping the other’s hand tight- too tight, “ _Sean_.”

 

“Oh my _fuckin Christ_ ,” Jack swore, tugging hard on his hand.

 

The pair of them shouted, feet moving of their own accord as Bonnie reached his dilapidated hands toward them.

 

Run.

****

**_RUN._ **

 

They turned the corner, sneakers squeaking and sliding as they slipped past children’s crayon drawings into the crumbling set of FNAF 3, breath coming hard and heavy, pulses pounding as they gripped each others’ hands.

 

“Where did Matt go?” Jack whisper-screamed, cut off as Mark clapped a hand over his mouth.

 

Bonnie’s shuffling feet could still be heard somewhere beyond the corner.

_Just an actor._ Mark squeezed his eyes shut, keeping a firm grip on Jack’s slim frame. _They’re just actors. Just an actor. Just an actor just an actor just an actor just an actor-_

 

The shuffling got quieter, trailing off away from their hiding spot.

 

Slowly, carefully, Mark peeled his fingers from Jack’s mouth. “Sorry,” he breathed, shaking his head, “I was looking for Matt and… Bonnie was there and-”

 

Jack took in a deep breath, turning to face Mark directly. “Okay, those two are probably in on the same joke,” he said, meeting the gaze of the taller between them only after he’d said it, “Nate may not be much of a trickster, but Matt certainly is.”

 

Mark nodded, but knew that neither of them believed it. Not really.

 

“Right,” he heard himself say, turning his gaze from Jack’s painfully blue eyes to take in their new surroundings.

 

A cold chill crept down his spine. FNAF 3. The empty head of Foxy with glowing eyes stared down the hallways at them with rotting children’s drawings curling off the walls toward them. Around the corner, he knew that Chica’s head would be sitting on the floor, waiting for them to trip over her.

 

And somewhere within the halls, Springtrap was wandering.

 

Listening.

 

 Waiting.

 

Mark wasn’t sure if he could continue to try to convince himself or Jack that they were actors. _They have to be, right? This is just an attraction. If people were actually dying in here, then there’d be a lot of legal trouble for Scott_.

 

Still, he found himself believing that none of this was real less and less with each step.

 

Jack and Mark kept their hands clasped together, not daring to let go, no matter how slippery their palms got with sweat from fear.  “We’ll find them, won’t we?” Jack’s shaky voice was barely audible over the giggling from Balloon Boy- the distraction for Springtrap.

 

Mark swallowed hard and pulled Jack a little closer. “ ‘Course we will,” he said, not at all sure. He paused only to recall the layout of the map, peeking around the corner before turning it, heading past the empty Freddy suit to the door that led into the security office.

 

“I am so fuckin sick of these monitors,” Jack sighed, keeping a firm grip on Mark’s hand, even as he flinched away from the box of animatronic parts, “Let just keep going through to 4, shall we?”

 

“Sounds like a good plan,” Mark agreed, catching a glimpse of a phantom animatronic out of the corner of his eye on the screen, and- _fuck_. He froze.

 

“Do. Not.” Jack was shaking his head, facing away and toward the exit to the last part of the attraction: a bedroom just within grasp, tugging on his friend’s large hand, “Do _not_ tell me he’s there.”

 

Mark’s breath was caught in his throat. Springtrap stood on just the other side of the glass, swaying subtly in place. Staring them down.

 

The jokes he’d made in his videos seemed so childish now. So useless. Good lord, he _knew_ this couldn’t be real, but couldn’t help the way his pulse picked up again. “Run, Sean,” he said under his breath. The red lights in the office began to flash, and he blinked rapidly as if we were waking up from a spell.

 

Springtrap had vanished from the glass.

 

“Fuck, **run!** ” He both pushed and pulled Jack into sprinting toward the entry to the next area. His friend’s skinny frame scrabbled forward.

_Fucking **run!**_

 

The alarms kept sounding. The lights dimmed.

 

He swore loudly, squeezing hard on Jack’s sweaty hand.

_I won’t let go._

 

The lights cut out.

****

**_I won’t let go._ **

 

Jack’s hand slipped out of his. He scrambled with both of us his own to regain grip as they ran.

 

Silence fell, stifling after the alarm. All he could hear was the pounding in his ears. “Jack?” he called into the darkness, shifting his grip on the hand in his, “Sean?”

 

Silence.

 

“Please answer me,” Mark pleaded, his voice cracking, “This isn’t funny.”

_Nate and Matt are both missing. Please don’t do this to me._

 

“Please tell me you’re there,” he all but begged, “Please tell me this is your hand.”

 

“I’m here.”

 

It was a familiar voice. But it wasn’t Jack’s.

 

A dim light flickered on, revealing only a silhouette. Not the right height. Not the right build. Not the right hair.

 

Not Jack.

 

And they were gripping Mark’s hand too tight to be friendly. Like a metal vice.

 

He retracted his hand like he’d touched something hot, shouting in surprise and sprinting away into the bare bedroom that represented FNAF 4. “What the fuck,” he asked aloud, turning to slam the door behind him, instinctively going quiet to listen for breathing. _What the **fuck** is wrong with this place?!_

 

“Mark?”

 

He whipped his head around. Another door stood vaguely ajar on the other side of the room, a small and scared voice drifting through it.

 

“Mark?” It repeated, a shuddering gasp following it, “Is that you?”

 

“Yeah,” he called, listening once more for any sound on the door he was holding shut. Nothing. Tentatively moving away from it, he stepped over to the other door, picking up a flashlight from the bed and listening intently, “Who is it?”

 

“Matt,” his voice was shaky, breaking into a frightened choke, “Why did we come here?”

 

Mark shook his head, scraping the red strands of hair that fell into his face out of his eyes. “I don’t know,” he whispered, “It was supposed to be fun.” Hesitantly, he pushed the door open. “Here, let me get you out of there.”

 

Matt was waiting for him on the other side. But not like Mark expected.

 

His arms were tied behind his back, a gag tied tightly around his head and- _oh god._ Mark heaved. His eyes were wide open, staring lifelessly into the room behind him.

 

“Fuck, _fuck_ ,” he tugged on his hair. Unable to tear his eyes away from the body of Matthew Patrick.

 

“Mark?”

 

His heart stopped.

_No._

 

Jack’s voice, made too quiet, too meek drifted from the closet. Focusing the flashlight’s beam on the slightly opened doors of the closet, he hoped, _prayed_ , that Jack wouldn’t have found the same fate.

 

That he wasn’t too late.

 

He cracked the door open.

 

He was.

 

Jack lay crammed into a closet shelf, one skinny leg bent awkwardly off of it and his head tipped backward over the edge. The bright blue eyes open, but no longer shining the light that he radiated, blood dripping from his mouth and over his face, mingling sickeningly with the green hair.

 

The strength left Mark’s legs. Too late. Two of his friends dead. He couldn’t draw in a proper breath.

 

He shook.

 

He trembled with the sobs that threatened to overtake him.

 

His face twisted with sorrow- then with fury. The question from the very beginning of this repeated once more in his mind.

_Where is Nate?_

 

As if on cue, the bed behind him creaked as if someone had lowered their weight onto it.

 

Slowly, slowly, Mark turned his head to look over his shoulder.

 

The silhouette he’d seen before- too tall, too broad, hair too long and tame- sat there, one leg draped over the other as he leaned back on his hands.

 

“Nate,” Mark breathed, not trusting his voice, “Where have you been?”

 

“Oh, you know,” the familiar voice, yet twisted in some deep, rasping way, “Around. Here and there.”

 

Mark turned his flashlight to the figure on the bed, a cold shock going through him. Nate’s black eyes stared him down, unblinking and dull. He was there, but not. His hoodie hung off one shoulder, the rips in his jeans somehow wider and coated with dirt and old blood.

 

But most disturbing, a slice arced across his throat. “Like what you see?” Nate asked, grinning wide and showing off the clotted blood in his usually well-kept teeth, “Looks better than he usually does, in my honest opinion.”

 

“Nate, please,” Mark stood slowly, moving to stand between the other and the open closet, “Why did you do this?”

 

The man seated on the edge of the bed sighed dramatically. “ _Nate_ didn’t do anything,” he said, glancing down to study the dirt caked under his nails briefly before flicking his flare back up to Mark. His eyes were dark, as if he’d not slept in weeks. “ _Nate_ ,” he spat the name, “Was a useless piece of shit that could only make pretty music~!” His voice went high pitched and mocking.

 

He stood, too smooth, almost mechanical from the bed. “ _Nathan_ was too chicken shit to do the things that he _really_ wanted to do,” he growled, taking a step toward Mark.

 

Mark glowered at the slowly-approaching Not-Nate. “What he wanted to do,” he asked, “or what _you_ wanted? Who even are you?”

 

The man before him laughed, low and showing off the dimples that were normally endearing- but somehow stretched over his face to make him more terrifying.

 

The man didn’t even really breath. He seemed only to do so to talk or laugh, and the sound rattled wetly through his lungs.

 

Nate was dead, Mark realized. This… This was something else entirely.

 

“Ah, ah,” it tutted with Nate’s twisted voice, shaking one bony finger at him, “You’re right. This isn’t a movie. This isn’t some story. You’ve got me monologuing. We can’t have that, can we?”

 

Mark almost mocked him, backing up into the wall beside the open closet. He blinked, and Nate was upon him, fingers digging into his neck. He flailed his flashlight into the face that used to belong to his friend, watching in horror as it tore at a cheek, but he didn’t flinch.

 

He gasped for breath that wouldn’t come. Kicked at skinny legs that cracked but kept pressing forward. Vision went black at the edges. Knees gave out and the thing wearing Nate followed him to the floor, sitting on his chest and tightening its grip on his throat even further.

 

“Why?” he squeezed out. He needed answers. Needed to know.

 

Mark felt his fingers going cold even as he gripped at Nate’s tattered hoodie. His face split into a grin as he leaned down, licking a cold, sticky line over Mark’s jaw before murmuring into his ear. “Because it’s fun.”

 

The world went black.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

After the four invited guests never made it out, the police shut down the attraction and began investigation.

 

Four dead bodies were found: three within the second to last area, in the child’s bedroom. One laying in the hallway, one crammed into the closet, and one strangled on the floor. The last one was found in the more mechanical-inspired game below the child’s bedroom- the ‘Scooping Room’, limbs broken and tangled amongst the shells of robots.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know- I'm super duper late to the FNAF party. To be fair, I wrote this back in Oct 2016 after having cosplayed as Foxy for the first time with a good friend as Chica. And after binge-watching EVERYTHING FNAF-related. I mean, within reason. ANYWAY. That's why Mark has red hair, so there's that oops explained.
> 
> I'm sure you've got some questions. You'll find some answers in the next chapter.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! ♥


	2. Chapter 2

Nate was ill.

 

From the moment he’d awoken, his stomach had been twisting unbearably, sending him hurtling toward the bathroom as soon as he cracked open his eyes. Nothing felt right. Every muscle trembled as he heaved into the toilet, swearing and gasping for air.

 

This hadn’t happened in years. He hadn’t woken up nauseated since he was a kid with food poisoning. Yet here he was, a shivering mess in a cold sweat on the bathroom floor. Nate wracked his brain. Did he eat something bad? Was something past the expiration date? Did he forget a deadline?

 

As if someone hit a switch, he went cold. _Freddy’s._ Today was the day that he and three others had been invited out to try the new Five Night’s at Freddy’s haunted house attraction… thing. If he let himself think about it, he’d been vaguely unsettled since the email came in with the invitation. _Why am I so worried? I won’t be alone_.

 

Sure, he didn’t really like horror games that much and liked haunted houses even less, with their tight quarters and suffocating spaces, but three of his friends would be there with him. Mark, Jack, and Matt would be there. _It’s gonna be fine._

 

Shakily, Nate wiped at his mouth and stood to rinse the taste of bile from his throat.

 

_It’s gonna be fine._

 

* * *

 

 

“It’s going to be just fine, Nathan,” the familiar, higher-pitched voice from the receiver said, echoing his attempts at calming himself all morning, “If it gets too bad, we can ollie out. Or, ooh! Or we can throw Mark at the animatronics!”

 

Nate snorted. “Matt, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but neither of us can throw Mark any further than we can spit.”

 

“I’ve seen you spit,” Matt retorted, “It’s pretty impressive. And gross.”

 

“That was supposed to be our little secret,” Nate joked, unable to keep the dirty grin from his face, “What would Steph say if she found out?”

 

Before Matt could respond, the voice of his wife called distantly from the background, “Gaaaay.”

 

A round of laughter tapered off after a moment, and Nate sat heavily on his couch, removing his glasses to rub at the bridge of his nose as another wave of nausea threatened to overtake him. “It’s going to be okay,” Matt told him again, voice much quieter this time, as if he could tell that his friend wasn’t feeling well.

 

“I don’t know, dude,” Nate groaned, taking deep, measured breaths and slouching backwards. His face felt sickly cold. He felt his forehead- did he have a fever? “Nothing about this feels right. Zippidy doo dah. Nothing.”

 

A beat of silence. “You always were one to listen to your instincts,” the reply finally came, “But listen to your good ol’ Fact Friend.”

 

“Yes, Mr. Theorist,” Nate sighed, letting his eyes shut out the too-brightness of the world. He definitely felt like he was getting the flu, “I’m listening.”

 

“These are going to all be actors in suits, right?”

 

“Right.”

 

“And none of this will be real.”

 

“I know, Matt-”

 

“No, shut up. Listen to me.” Nate sighed again loudly, but kept silent to let his friend continue. “You’re not alone in this. There’s three other people going in with you. Whatever it is that’s eating at you? It’s going to be okay. You can hold my hand if you want.”

 

Nate snorted at the offer. “Aww, how sweet,” he paused for a moment before speaking again, far more serious as he opened his eyes to stare up at his ceiling, “Seriously though, thanks.”

 

“Of course, buddy,” Matt replied, the smile evident in his voice, “Come on. Get yourself ready. I’ll pick you up on the way over.”

 

After hanging up, Nate’s stomach and nerves still hadn’t settled.

 

* * *

 

 

Fuck, he’d forgotten how loud these guys all together were.

 

Not that he wasn’t loud, too, but somehow Mark’s voice coupled with Jack’s and Matt’s made his scalp tighten painfully on his skull. Nate squeezed his dark eyes shut and rubbed at his temples as they waited to be let inside. It felt almost like everything had gotten worse the closer he’d gotten to this place.

 

Glancing up, the sign that read ‘Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza’ loomed over them, too bright and too big. “You alright, man?” Jack asked him, squeezing his shoulder.

 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he said- no, snapped. He didn’t mean to. Didn’t mean to shrug Jack off him. Didn’t mean to piss anyone off or be angry. But god _damn_ the looks of concern were annoying him. “I’m okay, really.”

 

He really wasn’t. Nate tried desperately to ignore the trembling in his bony hands, bit back the bile that threatened to crawl up his throat.

 

_Something isn’t right._

_I shouldn’t be here._

_We shouldn’t be here. Why is no one else worried?_

_Am I just overworrying?_

_That’s gotta be it. Everything is okay._

Slowly, they wandered inside. It was almost a relief to finally make it past the threshold of the attraction.  Almost.

 

The air was blessedly cool inside, and it was only then that Nate realized that his face had been damp with sweat. Maybe he _did_ have a fever. The corridors were too small for their four sets of shoulders to squeeze through all at once, leaving them to shove Mark to the front while the rest of them trailed behind. Nate had never been so thankful to have Matt so close, even if it was done out of his friend’s fear, as well.

 

The whole thing was set up perfectly- look, there was Freddy, Bonnie, and Chica on the stage, and Foxy behind the curtain in Pirate’s Cove. All enough to tug at their nostalgia of facing the first game and not having a clue of what to do other than to shut them out and try not to panic too much when they came down the hallway.

 

But something amongst all of the nostalgia and attention to detail felt… _off_. Nate couldn’t put his finger on it. No one else seemed to notice it, either- or they simply hadn’t voiced it, yet. _Something’s not right_. Almost reluctantly, he smushed himself against Mark’s back and barely complained when Matt followed suit against his own.

 

_I’m not alone._

_Please don’t go anywhere._

_Stay right here._

“Should we check Pirate’s Cove?” Nate never thought that those words would be some of the last he’d hear.  The air was tense as Mark clicked over to the camera watching over Pirate’s Cove. He felt the blood drain from his face when the image flickered into life, revealing the curtain thrown open.

 

“Guys, it’s just a haunted fucking house,” he tried to convince his friends. Tried to convince himself, forcing himself to uncurl his stiff fingers from Mark’s shirt. “Yeah, they did a damn good job and it’s scary as shit, but we’ve gotta keep-”

 

The tiny room erupted into chaos.

 

Flashes of tattered red and streaking silver.

 

The sound of animatronic gears screeching.

 

Black.

 

The whole room was black. Nate couldn’t see his own nose. He reached out, scrabbling for Matt’s hand.

 

Anything.

 

_Anyone._

_I’m going to puke._

_Please don’t leave._

And then nothing.

 

The last thing he was aware of was the sound of his glasses hitting the floor as he was swept away. Too fast, too swift down the hallway to know which turn was which.

 

Too out of it, vision too unclear and head too foggy to make any sense of anything.

 

Until he was sat down hard, left to crumple into a pile of… _Where the fuck am I?_

 

Slowly, shakily, he raised his gaze upward, hands slipping and scraping in the piles metal and plastic. Hovering above him, even through his blurry vision, he could see it there.

 

A scoop.

 

_No._

 

 ** _No_**.

 

“Please,” he murmured, voice cracking, “This is a joke, right? It’s just part of the whole thing. It has to be.”

 

Silence, and the whirring of the machine kicking into life was the only answer he got.

 

“Please,” he repeated, louder, lifting himself to his feet, backing away from the scoop, “Whoever you are, this isn’t fucking funny.”

 

Louder. The machine got louder.

 

Reared back.

 

Nate shouted. Pleaded.

 

And then silence.

 

A fire arcing through every nerve.

 

Hollow.

 

Felt the spine slip from his back. Felt it be replaced by something cold and metallic.

 

Vision blurred at the edges. Blood drained. Muscles stopped responding- to him, anyway.

 

Trapped within the shell of his own body, still aware-enough to watch from inside as _whatever it is_ piloted the leftover muscles and tendons and skin that used to be his. Watched his own hands pull out pieces of his own skeleton to make room for the metal and cords.

 

If he could be sick anymore, he would have vomited. Nate watched in vague, helpless horror, still somewhat attached, but completely out of control as his own body pulled smoothly- too smoothly- through the hallways. Watched as his friends  wondered where he was.

 

 _I’m here_ , he wanted to scream, _I’m here. Please help me._

_Please don’t help me._

_Don’t come near me._

_Run away._

This. This is what he’d been fearing since the moment he received the email. Fear that it would someday consume him- but he’d never imagined it would be _literal_. Nate watched, horrified, as he whisked Matt away. Listened as the thing used his voice. His stolen voice.

 

Watched, unable to look away as Matt was tied up, much more expertly than the video they had done, as the older man stared up at him, mouth gagged and amber eyes pleading.

 

_Don’t look at me like that. Please._

_Don’t do it._

He felt the stretch across his face, the familiar dip in his cheeks as dimples appeared. Felt Matt’s hair and jaw under his numbing hands and the jolt of the crack of his neck.

 

Felt Matt’s pulse stutter and die under his fingers.

 

_No, please. No no nonononononononononononono_

“What?” came his own voice, speaking to no one but Matt’s cooling corpse, “Aren’t you enjoying the show?”

 

**_No._ **

“Aww, well that’s just too bad, isn’t it?” He felt his own mouth turn into a pout, a sickening imitation of his own expressions.

 

Once again. He watched once more as the lights flickered. Watched as Mark and Jack flailed in panic and sprinted away. Watched as his own hands reached out to knock Jack out, slipping his own hand in Mark’s, big and warm. At least, from what he could tell.

 

Nate wished he would just die. His body was already there- why couldn’t he just drop out of existence?

 

_Why are you doing this?_

 

Jack was blessedly still and silent as his hands drove a knife deep into his belly and shoved him into the closet, letting the blood burble up over his lips and face. _Why are you making me do this?_

 

Mark was lured into the room. Lured by the imitation of Matt’s voice.

 

Then Jack’s.

 

Nate wanted to scream. Wanted to warn him- **_RUN_** \- but nothing came out of his mouth. It was useless.

 

The thing inside him made him watch. Made him feel Mark’s pulse under his hands and how it slowed. _Why are you doing this?!_ He demanded, feeling as though he were shaking the bars of an immoveable prison.

 

“Because it’s fun.”

 

* * *

 

 

He sat among the corpses, blood dripping from his lips. “Wow, you suck.”

 

_You ripped me open to take over my body and kill my friends, and **I’m** the one who sucks?_

 

“You’re a terrible host.”

 

_What did you even want with me?_

“To be free.”

 

Nate watched from inside his dead eyes as his body lurched forward, past Mark’s strangled body and toward the hallway, past Jack and Matt, down the trapdoor there. Down down down below. “Can’t call it quits here. It’d be too easy for them to find us.”

 

_Why me?_

“Hm?”

 

 _Why me?_ The question felt tired and defeated, listless and… Nate wanted nothing more than to sleep. To no longer exist like this. _Why did you take me? Why not someone else?_

 

“Because you were the most open,” the answer came simply, his voice crackling with saliva laced with blood, “You let it in the most. Inspiration.”

 

_Let what in?_

His walking corpse stumbled back down into the pile of robotic parts and blood-wet vertebra. “Freddy’s,” it answered, pulling at his tattered shirt, “Matthew did the research, Jack and Mark played the games, sure. But you?”

 

His eyes finally closed, and slowly, Nate felt himself begin to separate from the body. _No, wait. Me, what?_

“Time to sleep, Nathan. Time to dream.”

 

The metal within slithered away. The body dropped.


End file.
